Supernova
by AnnieXMuller
Summary: Alexis and Mother are spending the 4th with friends. House to myself. Maybe I'll invite someone over for some, uh... fireworks - WriteRCastle. Another tweet-inspired fic. Happy 4th of July!


**Another Tweet-inspired fic.  
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**_"Alexis and Mother are spending the 4th with friends. House to myself. Maybe I'll invite someone over for some, uh... fireworks." _**** WriteRCastle ****  
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Castle pulls his front door wide open, his body tingling in anticipation. Beckett's shining eyes lock on his once the barrier between them is removed. She missed him today, and needs him _now_. She crosses the threshold in two long strides, her arms wrap around him, hands become fists, his shirt clenched tight in them, and their lips collide. No words, no hesitations at all, just burning, desperate, contact.

It dark outside already, past nine PM, and he had been planning to take her onto the roof with a blanket and a bottle of wine, and watch the fireworks display. But this... this is so much better. Her tongue is in his mouth, wet and hot, sliding against his, taking the lead in this dance. She's tugging his body closer to hers, and he can feel the thin sheen of sweat on her skin from the heat outside, her body cooling rapidly now from the AC in the loft.

She's reaching out to the side for the door, and swinging it closed, her foot kicking it gently to ensure it clicks into place, all the while making sure their lips don't part.

Hands find their way into hair; his fingers tangle in hers, hers run through his. The tips of fingers trail down necks, grip shoulders, upper arms, both holding tight to one another, keeping the contact.

Anyone would think they'd been separated by years, instead of the fourteen hours between her leaving his bed to go to the precinct, and him staying behind to spend the day with his family.

Noses bump as they switch angles, lips separate briefly and then reconnect.

She's dragging his shirt up, and he needs to move this away from the front door, to somewhere with more of a view.

A sizzle from outside, one big boom, followed by little ones, and the room lights up red and white.

He breaks the kiss then, grins at her. Their heart rates are elevated, and both pant heavily. "Fireworks," he says on an exhaled breath. He wants to take her to the window, stand behind her, wrap his arms around her waist, and watch the display. Then press her up against the window, naked and writhing, and have his way with her.

She shakes her head, her hair wild and loose, falling around her face, over her shoulders. "I don't care." Her voice is low, but determined. "Bedroom."

He glances over his shoulder at the window, just briefly, before his brain shuts down and his body takes over. She's tugging him by one hand, leading him through the living room to his office, through the entrance framed with bookcases, to his bedroom. He closes the bedroom door behind them, and then she's slamming him back against it (turnabout is only fair play, after all), her legs on either side of his thigh, grinding against the hard muscles as her lips find his.

He pulls her closer, lifts his thigh just slightly to press into her as she rubs against him. Barely two months into their relationship and it's all still so new. They're in a relationship where every time feels like the first time, where every kiss leaves her breathless, and every touch makes him hard. She's never wanted sex so often in her life, and for him it's never felt so good. And when they think about this thing they started just two months prior it leaves them both a little scared; her eyes widen, and his heart soars as he watches her first battle with, and then surrender to, these new emotions, and when his own eyes glisten as he takes her in that's when she knows this is real.

She can't get his clothes off his body fast enough, and he's undressing her with shared urgency, yet somehow they manage to work together and discard clothing without bumping hands. Naked, their bodies collide, the mere minutes apart too long. She's walking him backwards towards the bed, and just as they reach the mattress he spins them around and pushes her back. She pulls him down, and he moves along the mattress on his knees, while she wiggles her body up it, until they're centered just right on the bed. Sizzles, booms, and pops fill the room, stars explode outwards in the sky outside the window, and she almost laughs at how absurd it is. A joke about orgasms and fireworks is on the tip of her tongue, but she swallows it back down and forgets it when his lips press hot against hers, her mouth opens and invites his tongue in, and all cliches are forgotten.

Kissing is the only foreplay tonight. She's soaking, wet and open and ready, and he's been hard since she burst through the door and claimed his lips with hers. She presses her heels into the mattress, he nestles between her wide, long, legs. Her hands come around to grip his ass once he finds her entrance. He fills her quickly, stretching her as he presses in, as deep as he can go. She gasps and holds a breath while she adjusts to his size, but the pain is only minor, and doesn't linger.

He begins to move, and she meets his thrusts. Her head presses back into the mattress, and she locks her ankles behind him, her heels digging into his ass, pulling him as close as she can. She's not going to last long tonight, she already feels the tingling begin to build within, and the warmth begin to spread through her. She's not necessarily looking for a quickie, but damn she's okay with a fast, intense orgasm. It's been a long fourteen hours since she left him that morning, and she's spent most of the day aching for him.

She slips a hand down between them, and rubs two fingers over her clit, hard diagonal strokes. She's so wet, her fingers slide easily over herself, moving her own wetness over her skin. He thrusts harder, deeper, until there's no space between them to move her fingers and aid her release. He's pressing so tight against her the best she can do is hold her fingers over her clit and apply pressure, but it's not enough, and frustration creeps into her. With a grunt, she slips her hand out and presses it against his chest, leaving herself on him as she pushes at him. He stops thrusting, concerned he's pushed too deep, hit her too sharply, caused her pain. But she's smiling as she's pushing him up.

"Switch," she tells him simply.

"On my back?" He asks, and when she nods he pulls out of her deliciously slow, and then slides down beside her.

She rolls over, and on to him. She drags herself up to her knees, and straddles his hips. She rises up, positions herself above him, and then guides him in. He thrusts up as she slides down, and she waits for a moment, just reveling in the feel of him filling her so completely. His fingers curl at her waist, gripping into her and urging her to move. Slowly, she rises up, feels every inch of him, almost to the tip, before rotating her hips and sliding back down. Rotating and rising, rotating and falling. He's thick and hot, and she takes him as deep as she can, squeezes her muscles around him as she rises again, never letting him slip out of her completely.

She knows each pulse of her muscles, each movement of her hips, is all bringing him closer to release, and she feels a little bit smug because she knows he's feeling his own frustration. He wants to increase the speed, shorten the thrusts, find his release, but she's in control now and she's taking her time.

Her palms flatten on his abdomen, her fingers grazing over his muscles, his soft skin. She feels him twitch slightly, and she knows she's tickling him. She knows all his ticklish spots now, and loves that he has them. She has to be careful, because he knows all of hers too.

She meets his eyes, smiles down at him. The room is dark, lit by two soft lights on the wall beside the door, and the fireworks blazing through the sky and exploding outwards. The soft hues to her right are enough to illuminate his face, his eyes, and every now and then she sees greens and reds in her peripheral vision to the left, the booming sounds mixing with their own heavy breathing, and the sound of skin against skin. Once, not too long ago, the sounds outside might have made her jump, create unease within her and distract her. She's made peace with that now, and she knows those are not gunshots. She's safe here, with him.

The intimacy of her eyes locked on his increases her heart rate and sends a new rush of warmth through her. She feels a surge of emotion each and every time she holds his gaze while he moves within her, one she hopes will never diminish with time. She never wants to lose the feelings he incites within her, can't imagine she ever will.

She loves him, loves him, loves him - and although she's never spoken those words out loud, he sees it in her eyes, hears it in her voice, feels it as she holds him close and squeezes her muscles around him, and she doesn't ever need to say it, because he knows that's just who she is.

He'll say it for both of them, because that's who he is.

She grinds down on him and her hands move to his shoulders, her body leaning over his. Her hair falls in front of her face, tickling his nose, and she smiles sweetly as he reaches up to tuck it lovingly behind her ear, his fingertips trailing her jaw, down her neck, to her breasts.

The deep resonating booms increase; the skyrockets whistling up into the clear July night sky explode with fury, the pyrotechnic display reaching its climax. She loses herself in the colors, the sounds, and the scorching heat of her skin from the warmth he creates within her. She pushes herself up, and then leans back, her hands falling behind her to grip around his thighs. The new angle increases the friction, sends another surge of warmth through her, and she shifts her hips and finds a new rhythm.

He thrusts his hips up, finding his own rhythm despite the confines of the position for him. His eyes slam shut, and he can't wait much longer. The tension is building within him, the heat of his arousal surges through his veins, and he can barely breathe. His fingers grip her tightly, holding her down, and he knows if he opens his eyes, sees the curve of her body, her head thrown back and her breasts jutting out he'll lose control. He wants her to lose control with him.

"Kate," he forces out between clenched teeth, his eyes still closed.

She pushes up gracefully, until her body is straight, and she brings a hand to his face, strokes his cheek. His eyes open and she leans down to kiss him. He continues to thrust up into her, and she rotates her hips and grinds down, and their lips move in time with their bodies, their tongues sliding and colliding.

When she pulls back, nipping at his bottom lip as she does so, he groans. He's close. She knows.

She slips a hand down between where their bodies are connected, and two fingers find her slick clit. She teases herself, bringing herself close to release with short, hard, diagonal strokes. Her fingers work themselves into a frenzy, and she finds she can no longer move above him. She grips her muscles around him, and holds herself just high enough so he can thrust up off the mattress with long strokes.

She's so hot now, and the tension and heat keeps building as the friction increases. One hand grips the sheet beneath them, the other works her clit, and he better be damn close because she's on the edge, walking that line between feeling amazing, and feeling utterly frustrated. Her muscles are working to keep her from collapsing down on him, and her thighs are burning from the effort. The heat the friction creates rises up to her stomach, and radiates out, out to the tips of her fingers, and up to cheeks. She's burning up, and it's so intense it leaves her feeling luminous.

Her fingers still as the tension reaches its peak, and her breath hitches.

He feels the change within her, feels her clamp around him and hold still. He keeps his momentum, thrusts through the tightened muscles, and the feel of her gripping him almost undoes him. When her muscles release him, when she slumps forward slightly and her body spasms as her orgasm takes over, when she pulses around him, that's when he can't hold on any longer. His own release leaves him unable to do anything but hold on to her and ride it out.

And he swears he sees stars, but only later, after much persuasion from her, will he admit it _could _have just been the fireworks exploding outside.

But he doesn't really believe that.

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**AN: Just going to take a moment to say THANK YOU to everyone who reviews these fics I upload. I would write no matter what, but were it not for the reviews some of these would stay hidden in a folder deep inside my computer, never to be seen again (although, let's be honest, this one probably should have stayed there. Not my finest, but hope you enjoyed anyway). **


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